


Kin and Kith (But Mostly Kin)

by nettlebird



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Bilbo is Very Uncomfortable, Dis is a badass, Dwarf Siblings Being Affectionate, Gandalf is perpetually amused by the dwarves, Gen, I hope I didn't leave anyone out, Women Being Awesome, there are hints of onesided Dwalin/Dis if you pay attention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlebird/pseuds/nettlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Kink Meme prompt:</p>
<p>Because there can't be enough Dís in this meme.</p>
<p>Let's say her sense of direction is just as bad as her brother's and she's been tracking them all over Middle Earth, always JUST missing them. Finally, she catches up with the company a short time after the confrontation with Azog. Fili is secretly happy she's there since mum is a BADASS, but isn't very demonstrative in front of the company. Kili has no shame and is all, "MUMMY!" super thrilled she's found them because now everything's going to be awesome.</p>
<p>Thorin though? Surprises everyone by embracing her and not letting go for a LONG time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kin and Kith (But Mostly Kin)

They make camp at sunset after seeing the Lonely Mountain at last on the horizon, all desiring little more than a chance to lick their wounds. Oin bandages up what injuries he can and prescribes rest to speed the healing of those he cannot. Bilbo and the lads gather the wood that Bofur and Gloin use to kindle a fire for Bombur’s supper. Ori ventures into the trees with his brothers and the trio returns heavily burdened with rabbits. Dwalin repeatedly and unapologetically pushes Thorin back into his seat as he tries to stand and help.

Bifur takes out his whittling knife and Gandalf aids Bombur where he is permitted to. They escaped their orc-battle with few injuries and they loudly proclaim their thanks for that good fortune as they putter about and settle in to wait for food. Their talk turns quiet and the night turns dark, and Balin hums a lullaby while Kili cleans his sword and Fili tends to his hair. 

It isn’t so much a twig cracking underfoot at the edge of the clearing that alerts the Company to their unexpected company, but rather a quieting of the birds that had taken up residence in the surrounding trees. Kili and Fili are immediately on their feet with swords in hand, their ears being among the sharpest in the group, and Thorin is quick on their heels. Bombur and Bifur, following a curt nod from their leader, take Bilbo by the shoulders and tuck him behind their combined girth, Dori and Nori doing the same for their brother even as he readies his newly-carved sling shot. 

Barely a breath is taken before the absence of birdsong solidifies into a shadow among the trees. The Company waits in silence as the shadow moves closer to the fire and becomes the slim hoof and soft nose of a pony.

The fur-clad dwarf astride the mare has one hand gripping the pony’s reigns and the other clutching a sword that flashes in the light of the flame crackling not a stone’s throw away. She sits the animal with a regality and weariness that is immediately and strikingly familiar. 

Fili and Kili take a step forward and the tips of their swords fall to the ground. Kili murmurs, “Mum?”

Her mount is obedient beneath her and there is a moment of stillness so complete that an onlooker might have thought each dwarf rendered lovingly from stone. Dis, daughter of Thrain, granddaughter of Thror, regards her sons calmly. Then she dismounts, dropping her sword, and gathers her boys close. 

They do not say a word as they embrace. Dis tweaks a braid on Fili’s mustache and runs her fingers over the rough stubble on Kili’s face. The younger of her sons clutches the gold clasp of her braid between his thumb and forefinger, as he did in childhood. Fili creates some distance between his mother and himself as if the reunion is not about to bring a tear to his eye. 

“My boys.” She says, fondly, reaching out to her reluctant eldest to tug once more on a braid in his hair. He smiles but does not move to reciprocate, having always been less demonstrative than his mother and brother, and Dis allows him his space and reservations. He believes, as many young princelings do, that a stone façade will command the regard of his peers and future subjects. His mother will not begrudge him that.

Kili reluctantly releases her braid and steps away, and Dis’ eyes fall on her brother. He has remained a statue, frozen in the same position in which he first saw her, lips parted and eyes wide. With obvious effort he allows his sword to tumble from his fingers, but his gaze never leaves his sister’s face. 

Dis stands nearly as tall as her older brother and has his dark hair, shot through with the same silver. The beginnings of stubble line her jaw, much like her youngest son’s perpetual short growth, and her eyes are as warm as they are sharp. Her nose is more delicate than Thorin’s is, and that coupled with the thick lashes rimming her eyes and her slightly full lips are the only indication of femininity the dwarf presents to the world. She is a beautiful specimen of dwarf womanhood, even without a true beard to her name.

“Dis.” He breathes, unmoving, every line of his body screaming of tension. 

“Thorin.” She replies in the same reverent, disbelieving tone. 

He crosses the space between them and pulls her into his arms. Dis returns the embrace aggressively, pressing her face into her brother’s thick hair. His hand is a familiar weight on the back of her neck, hers arms tight around his shoulders, and it reminds the siblings so strongly of their youth that they want to weep.

“I began to believe we would never cross paths again.” She says, her fingers flexing against the fur he wears over his armor. 

“So little faith.” Thorin’s voice rumbles into her hair. Dis can hear the smile hidden in his words. 

None in the Company could properly say how long brother and sister stood in each other’s embrace, greedily drinking in each other’s proximity, but none thought less of them for their lengthy reunion. The bond between brothers and sisters- and, indeed, family itself- is one treated with almost religious reverence in the dwarven custom, and aside from her sons there have never been two closer siblings than Dis and Thorin in the memory of all gathered near the fire.

They separate reluctantly, but not entirely. Thorin guides Dis to the fire with an arm around her shoulders, and Kili eagerly presses to his mother’s unoccupied side as they sit. Fili follows, a pleased smile across his lips.

Bombur abandons Bilbo with a chuckle in favor of tending to the bubbling pot over the fire, calling his cheery greeting to Dis. Gloin, following a hearty greeting of his own, asks after his family and is delighted when Dis rummages around her coat and produces a worn letter from the beautiful wife he is rarely silent about. She takes a moment to respond to the inquiries and greetings of the others in kind, a wide grin splitting her face when she is approached by the tattooed member of their party.

“Dwalin!” She exclaims, and they grasp each other’s forearms like the warriors they clearly are before bringing their foreheads together with a loud crack. This is the extent of their greeting, but it is clear to any watching there is a wealth history between the two. 

There is a tenderness to Dwalin’s expression as he sits with Balin once more that so shocks Bilbo it takes him a moment to realize Bofur is pressing a bowl of stew into his hands.  
“Dwalin’s always been a tiny bit in love with our Dis, if curiosity’s what’s put that look on your face, Master Baggins.” Bofur murmurs conspiratorially, giving the Halfling a wink as he digs into his supper. “He’s always been a sucker for a lass that can fight, if you ask me.”

Bilbo make the mental note to do so, but wisely resolves not to ask Bofur until he is a bit further removed from the tattooed dwarf’s company. 

“Mum,” Kili clings to Dis’ side as if he is a tiny hobbitling clutching at his mother’s skirts. He does not bother to control the grin on his face as he lays his head in her lap, “how did you find us?”

She cards her fingers though his hair with one hand, gesturing expressively with the other as she tells her tale, beginning with her decision to leave the Blue Mountains, following each consecutive near-catch: three times since leaving their temporary home, once just outside the Shire, once by the trolls, once at Rivendale (“How you must have loved your stay there, brother,” she murmurs slyly), twice in the Misty Mountains, and ending with her account of their escape from Azog. “After all of that, tracking your company across half of Middle Earth, always one giant step behind, it came down to eagles. I had to follow _eagles_ to find you after I found my way out of the Misty Mountains at last, and even then they are much swifter of wing than my pony is of hoof. I feared I would lose sight of them and lose all hope of catching up.”

“Do not blame your pony.” Thorin chuckles. “You have never had much head for navigation, sister.”

Dis smirks, beginning to plait Kili’s hair. “Let us not speak of directional sense, brother. Or need I remind you of the halls you lost yourself in as a boy, not one corridor away from your own bedchambers?”

Fili’s loud laugh seems to startle even himself, but Dis simply smiles at her son with such fondness that a few of the dwarves feel they are intruding. When she finishes with Kili’s plait she secures it with a clasp from her own hair and accepts the bowl Bombur offers her.

The dwarves rarely take their meals in silence, and tonight is no exception. Each dwarf in turn puffs out his chest and tells a story of heroics, theirs or a secondhand tale. Bofur finishes an imaginative reinterpretation of an ancient dwarven legend and as the applause dies down Kili leans forward, throwing himself more fully into the light of the fire.

“Did any of you ever hear of Mum’s taking on five orcs alone?” Kili grins at the interested faces of his companions. Bilbo notices Dwalin’s slow smile from across the fire and looks immediately elsewhere. 

“It sounds like quite a tale,” says Gandalf with a knowing grin.

“It is.” Kili insists.

Bofur chuckles at the young dwarf’s earnest expression. “Go on, then. Tell us, lad.”

“Right, well,” Kili takes a deep breath to center himself, “many years before Fili was born, Mum lead a group of honest, hard-working dwarves from the kingdoms of Men into the Blue Mountains to find a new home. The going was treacherous for such a group of tinkers and carpenters but they were kin and she wouldn’t leave them to it alone. Mum was one of few among them with the knowledge to wield a sword in defense, let alone the ability to, but for many weeks they saw no more trouble than rain storms and bandits. One night, after a particularly fierce storm, one that could rival the thunder-battles we’ve seen,” here the other dwarfs voiced groans of complaint. “Aye! They could! So, after a week of this mighty gale the sky clears up, and the party was still a long while away from the mountains they sought to live in. A day passes without much issue and after allowing the dwarves to rest Mum gives the order to carry on.

Kili’s expression is grave. It adds years to the boyish dwarf’s face. “They were traveling alongside a forest in late afternoon when Mum noticed something seemed off. A strange feeling in the air, an odd smell on the wind, and not a moment later she saw them. Orcs. Snarling and smelling the air like dogs, charging towards the company.   
“There was no one else to defend them, see, so mother took her axe in hand and ordered the rest of the party to hide among the trees.” Kili says, and though his tale-telling skills are perhaps not the finest of those around the fire he has the Company hanging on his every word. Ori looks as happy as any have ever seen him with his book on his knees, gleefully snatching Kili’s words from the night air and capturing them on the page. 

Kili’s voice is reverent as he continues, “There were five scouts in all, poor things with no wargs, but snarling and evil all the same. Stupid, though, as orcs so often are, and so Mum was able to sneak behind the one closest to the forest and cut his throat before the other four had even scented her approach. She took her axe and taunted the rest, drawing them away from her people, singing songs about their ugly faces.” 

“Pustules, boils, teeth that gnash; slimy skin and ruby rash; wonky gait and strength like lace; how could a mother love that face?” Fili sings eagerly, the tune strikingly similar to the little ditty the Company had sung about the destruction of Bilbo’s silverware. 

Kili slaps his leg, beaming at his brother. “One was so enraged it lunged at her! But Mum dispatched him with a blow to the head for his rash jump. Her axe sunk into a third and then the fourth, but her angle was poor on her final swing and she lost her weapon in the monster’s back.”

Ori gasps, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks to Kili. “But there was one orc left!”

Kili smirks, bursting with pride. “Aye, there was. The last was the cleverest of the bunch, and the smallest, and he wore better clothes than his dead companions. He was the leader of the party, and he turned tail and ran. Mum knew he would bring the rest of his kin upon them if she allowed him to escape, so she abandoned her axe and gave chase.

“He was the swiftest orc Mum had ever seen, but she was faster. She overtook him as he ran down a dip in the forest floor and threw herself onto his back, locking her arms around his neck. He tried to throw her like a pony but Mum’s grip was firm and unyielding. She hooked her legs ‘round his middle, took his great deformed head between her hands, and she snapped his neck. Her rage at his threat to her kin was so great and he was such a scrawny orc that his head came off in her hands as they fell to the ground.”

“Surely not, lad.” Oin waves his hand dismissively, tapping fiercely on the book Ori scribbles intensely in, his jabbing finger suggesting a need for revision. “Mighty and fierce as Dis is, I don’t think she beheaded the leader of their scouting party with her bare hands.”

“She did!” Kili defends, ready to take up arms to enforce the truth of his story. “My mother certainly did take on that orc just as I’ve told you!”

“Is that true?” Bilbo asks, unable to help himself. He had managed to keep himself unseen by the newest addition to their party until now, thoroughly intimidated by the striking dwarf, and immediately regrets his inability to keep his own counsel.

Her head turns, searching for the source of the voice, and when her eyes finally land on the hobbit they widen briefly. Dis nods slowly. “Though I certainly wouldn’t recommend it.” 

Bilbo’s mouth hangs open slightly as Dwalin grunts in agreement across the fire, as if the bare-handed decapitation of scrawny orcs was a common thing to speak of. As the hobbit tries his best to wrap his mind around the concept, the Company hoots their applause and lapses into companionable silence in appreciation of the tale. Gandalf produces his pipe and smokes leisurely, enchanting the smoke rings he produces into animal shapes, having them mill among the dwarves and hobbit before dissipating entirely into the air. 

“When did you come across this hobbit, brother?” Dis asks after a moment, not unkindly, but with clear and healthy skepticism. 

“I am afraid that was my doing.” Gandalf smiles and inclines his head before launching into a retelling of their adventures since leaving the Shire. Bilbo blushes to the tips of his ears when the wizard’s description of his aid to Thorin on the burning cliff causes the regal Princess Under the Mountain to crush him to her chest. 

 

\---------

 

“And then your Grandmum pulled the sword from the beast’s belly and, spinning around, she shoved it into the gut of another-”

A chuckle stops Kili’s retelling of the Battle of Five Armies. He looks towards the source of the laughter and has the grace to look sheepish. “I thought you were visiting Balin today, Mum.”

“I thought better of it. Thorin and Dwalin are supposed to return from their travels tomorrow and I did not want to interfere with his brother’s preparation for the homecoming.” Dis moves gracefully from the doorway and scoops up her fair granddaughter, ruffling Kili’s unbound hair as she passes.

“Story!” Lith complains from the arms of her grandmother, the precocious dwarfling laughably cross at the interruption of her uncle’s tale. 

“Did you start at the beginning this time?” Dis’ voice is rich with mirth, knowing her son’s answer. Lith looks wide-eyed at Kili before shaking her blonde head. 

“The beginning isn’t nearly as fun as the battle!” He does not _whine_ , exactly, having outgrown such things in the many years between retaking Erebor and now, but the complaint makes Dis chuckle nonetheless.

“Your niece will be Queen Under the Mountain someday. The political dealings before the battle may not hold much interest for her now, but-”

“But someday they will be valuable lessons. Yes. I know.” Kili snorts, never having quite outgrown _that_ habit. “Why don’t you tell it? You’re better at it, anyway.”

Lith nods sagely. “Better at stories.” 

With a smile, Dis mimics her nod. “Very well. You should know the whole story, little one. You will learn the history of our people soon enough, from your father, but the story is what you will remember.” Dis tosses her heavy silver braid over her shoulder and away from the child’s grasping hands. “It begins, as most things do, in a mountain...”

**Author's Note:**

> The fill went a bit sideways from the prompt, but the narrative told me that Kili needed to tell a story, so I let him tell a story.  
> Fili's daughter is named Líth as a nod to the original "monolith," the Lonely Mountain.


End file.
